Facades
by lilyofthevalley2
Summary: A series of ficlets centered around the relationship between Angela and the other characters. Contains spoilers through the end of Volume 3. Chapter 1: Arthur, Chapter 2: Sylar, Chapter 3: Nathan
1. Let's Pretend

Angela was never a normal child. When other little girls were playing endless games of cat's cradle and having tea parties with imaginary friends, Angela preferred to spend her time watching. The webs that people wove between themselves fascinated her.

As she got older, she learned that pulling on one string in the web would cause others to move. It became a game, to see what she could make people around her do, what she could make them believe. She practiced with everyone, especially her family. Her parents thought she was the perfect child: never in trouble, never short-tempered, never embarrassing. It was an image she worked to maintain, first because it allowed her to have what she wanted, and later because maintaining the image served as its own amusement.

Angela's teenage years brought her entrée into society, which brought new challenges. Here, there were people who truly mattered. Manipulating them brought real rewards, rather than a mere sense of satisfaction. For her fifteenth birthday, she asked her parents to let her invest in the stock market. They were reluctant, especially when she chose to sink all the money they gave her into a nascent company, Yamagato Enterprises. They were stunned and delighted when it became a multi-million dollar corporation.

Angela laughed privately at her parents' naïveté. They moved in some of the most influential social circles on the planet, but they didn't even realize their own power. There was nothing special about Yamagato Enterprises. The stock simply fit her price range, and the CEO wasn't too stubborn. Then, she had simply guided the right people in the right direction. It was shockingly easy.

Indeed, it was _too_ easy. As Angela discovered how easy it was to make money, it lost all its appeal. Even if she had never made a cent in her own right, she would have been wealthy by inheritance. After several similar feats of manipulation, she was rich to a degree where acquiring more money simply wasn't interesting. Likewise, she quickly became so influential that getting further power was too easy to occupy her time.

Then, one day, she discovered that her vivid dreams were coming true. Developing her talents occupied her for a while. The future was liquid, and didn't interest her, but the past was fascinating. Really, the future was always a mere product of the past. When she was in a Jesuit grade school, her teacher recited a quote: "Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man." Actually, Angela thought that might be later than necessary. Children who cheated in games became adults who cheated on their spouses. Children who liked to bully others became adults who delighted in holding power. Nothing really changed; childish misdeeds simply got a façade of respectability painted onto them.

For a while, Angela made a game of guessing people's past and their futures. She became keenly aware of the tiny moves and looks and ways of speaking which tell much more about a person than a thousand words. Yet, this entertainment too paled with time. It became so easy that she scarcely needed to consult her dreams to understand a person. In short, Angela was bored. Then, she met Arthur.

Arthur Petrelli was nouveau riche. At first, Angela dismissed him as simply another popinjay, a fool who would spend his newfound money quickly and disappear from high society. But something about him interested her. It was not simply his power; she knew there were many others with powers in the world. But he had a vision. He offered a new challenge, something to occupy her mind and talents.

Angela knew Arthur was not as intelligent as she, but his idea offered her something she needed. She devoted herself wholeheartedly to his cause, not because she believed in it, but because it was something to _do_. She knew it was dangerous, and she knew it could end badly, not only for them, but for the world. But she convinced herself that she did care about his cause as he cared about it. Likewise, she told herself that she cared about him, that she loved him. She even almost believed it.

As Arthur stopped his rant to cough violently, he looked at her in stunned suspicion.

"I lied," Angela said bitterly. "It's not your mother's recipe."

Arthur looked at her with shock for a moment before he collapsed on the ground.

Angela sipped her wine. Why? Why had she even let herself pretend? She knew the truth. She knew that she was a manipulator. She knew that she would allow both her sons to be killed if it was necessary. But not this way. Not for the sake of one man's foolish pride.

It was ironic, really. She was crying, but not for Arthur, and not for her sons. She was crying for herself. She knew she was a monster, and she knew that she would remain so. Children never really change, after all. And the truth was, she didn't really care.


	2. Fallen Angels

Angela unlocked the door to her mansion and tried to turn on the lights. They wouldn't go on. She sighed slightly. "Hello, Gabriel," she said. "I wondered how long it would be before you came to visit."

She was thrown back against the wall. "My name is not Gabriel," Sylar said. "You made sure of that."

"I suppose I did," she said. "Would you like to go into the sitting room, or are we going to stay out in the hall?"

She was released abruptly and dropped to the floor. She picked herself up and showed Sylar into the other room. They sat down facing each other, sitting in cushioned red armchairs. "So, why did you come?" she asked.

"You know why," he said. "You were even expecting me."

She didn't answer at first. "You have all the skills, you know," she mused. "You just need a little more practice," she said.

"Don't play games with me, Angela," he said. "I'm not a patient man."

"Oh, but we both know that isn't true, _Sylar_. If you weren't patient, you would have simply killed the four of us instantly back at Primatech, rather than toying with us to prove a point," she said. "You still have a great deal to learn."

"And I'm supposed to learn from you?" he sneered.

"Didn't it ever occur to you to wonder why you believed me so easily when I claimed to be your mother?" she asked.

Sylar didn't answer, so she continued, "It's because we are exactly the same. We both see people as tools to be used. I'm simply better at it than you are."

"You think you could have succeeded? You can't even get your sons to follow your pretty plans," he snorted.

"Right now, both my sons are behaving exactly as I expected," she said. "Nathan is well on his way to becoming the president who will impose order on this chaos. As for Peter, once he's backed into a corner, he'll loose his scruples. The details may be different, but the big picture hasn't changed."

"You never change, do you, Angela?" Sylar asked.

"No one does, Sylar," she said. "Did you ever wonder how it's possible for us to predict the future, when there are so many variables? It's because even though small things may change, people always choose according to their natures. Your little test failed simply because you failed to understand that."

"Claire, for example, simply dislikes change. When she first got her powers, she hated them because they were new and different. Now, she doesn't know how to live without them. She refused to face your choice because it meant facing change.

"Noah will always fight wholeheartedly to protect the things he cares about. That includes the people who are important to the people he cares about. He recognized your trap, and he gambled that a third choice might be presented to him," she explained.

"You're trying to tell me they're good people," Sylar sneered.

"Not at all," she said. "Noah has killed quite a few people personally, including his old mentor. As for Claire, her hands aren't exactly clean, either. She deliberately crashed a car, permanently crippling a boy who tried to rape her. And that's only the things she's _already_ done. I am merely observing that they always act according to their natures."

"And what does that make you?" Sylar asked.

"If you need me to tell you, then you aren't nearly as intelligent as I expected," she said.

Sylar got up to leave. "Aren't you even going to ask about your parents?" she asked.

"I'll be back," he said, and disappeared out into the darkness.


	3. Destiny

**AN: **The dialogue here comes from the episode "Four Months Later."

Angela was beginning to find Nathan's sulking quite irritating. She left him alone for several months, but it finally became clear that he wasn't coming out of it. She went to Peter's apartment, which was where Nathan was currently staying, and waited for her son to come back.

After an hour, he came in, unwashed and reeking of alcohol. Really, his behavior was absolutely unbecoming of a future president.

"What are you doing here, Ma?" he asked.

"It's time to move on, Nathan. He's dead," she said, caressing a picture of the two brothers. Actually, she knew Peter was alive, although she wasn't entirely sure where he was at the moment. But Nathan didn't need to know that.

"You don't know that. Leave his stuff alone. He's going to want it when he gets back." Nathan fought with her for the picture, but Angela refused to let go. Her son was being absolutely childish today. The picture slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor. Nathan picked it up.

Angela tried switching tactics. "You're drunk," she said harshly. "Thank God your father isn't here to see you."

She couldn't see her son's face, but she noticed his back stiffening slightly. Nathan had always adored his father, and he knew that Arthur would never have approved of his son drinking himself into a stupor. Still, he couldn't seem to even rouse himself enough to snap at her. He just muttered something incoherent.

Angela began to pack Peter's things into a box. "You killed your brother, drove Heidi away, drove your kids away. If you'd followed our plan, if you'd done what you were supposed to do, your brother would be alive now!"

He finally looked at her. "And to think I almost listened to you," he said, almost as if he were just awakening. "You're evil, Ma. Get out."

_Finally_, she thought, and swept out of the room, although not before she had batted his hand out of the way with a book.

Nathan had been letting himself stew in self-pity and hopelessness for too long. Angela really didn't care if he hated her or loved her, as long as he did _something_. As long as he acted, he would be heading in the proper direction; it was in his nature. His grandstanding in Kirby Plaza had only delayed the inevitable. It was an irritating setback, certainly, but nothing more.

One day, Nathan would be the president. He would be the greatest leader the world has ever known, the one responsible for coping with humanity's worst crisis. He would make mistakes, but history would always remember him. History would probably forget about her, but it was enough to know that she had made it all happen.


End file.
